


The Better Part of Valour

by Heavyheadedgal, PhryneFicathon



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/F, Gen, Undercover, casefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-02-16
Packaged: 2019-03-15 20:35:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13621197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhryneFicathon/pseuds/PhryneFicathon
Summary: Mac and Phryne team up to catch a blackmailer targeting the butch women of Melbourne's Sapphic society. Set sometime mid-to-late Season 2.





	The Better Part of Valour

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whopooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/gifts).



> I combined two prompts: “It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them” --Ralph Waldo Emerson + Phryne in a tuxedo

Mac sat at the table in the interrogation room of City South late one Saturday night, managing to look both cheeky and sheepish at the same time. Jack sat on the other side, hands folded in front of him, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Doctor Macmillan, care to explain why my constable found you picking the lock of a stranger’s flat?”

“It’s a long story, Inspector,” Mac replied guardedly. “I’m sure it wouldn’t interest you.”

“I’ve got all night. Indulge me. And don’t leave out the part where Miss Fisher’s involved.”

“Now hang on, what makes you think ---“

“If an otherwise respectable physician is caught breaking and entering, I can be sure her closest friend Phryne Fisher is behind it somehow.”

“I’m perfectly capable of getting into trouble on my own, I’ll have you know,” Mac grumbled. She brought out her cigarette case, offering it to Jack. He refused.

“You’re stalling, Doctor.” 

They both turned toward the door as the sounds of a determined lady detective and a beleaguered constable filled the hallway. Phryne burst into the room. “Jack, what on earth is this! Release Mac immediately!” Hugh stood behind her, mouthing the word “sorry” to his boss. Jack waved him away. 

“Miss Fisher--why are you wearing a tuxedo?”

Phryne put her hands on her hips. “Why shouldn’t I wear a tuxedo?” 

“You might be arrested for creating a public disturbance, for one.” 

She preened. “I’ll take that as a compliment, Inspector.”

He sighed. “Close the door, Miss Fisher, and have a seat.”

“You can’t possibly charge Mac with breaking and entering, Jack. Where’s your evidence?”

“A neighbour witnessed it.”

“Hearsay!”

“I assure you I have no desire to send Doctor Macmillan to jail, but it would be easier to avoid that if I knew what was going on.”

“Phryne---“Mac’s voice had a warning note. “You know we can’t.”

Phryne took Mac’s hand in reassurance. “This is _Jack_ , darling. I think we have to tell him.”

“Tell me what?” Jack said in his most persuasive tone.

Phryne turned to him. “Mac came to see me last week…”

*****

Georgia Dunmore sat on the sofa in Mac’s parlour, her head cradled in her hands. Through her mop of close cropped curls, her knuckles showed white.

“I’m in real trouble Mac,” she whispered. 

Mac put an arm around her, consolingly. “Come on, pet. Tell the good doctor your troubles.”

“It’s… Jenny Bainbridge,” Georgia admitted.

“That blonde piece you’ve been stepping out with? What’s happened? She thrown you over?” Mac asked sympathetically.

“No—well, yes, but…it’s complicated.” She looked up, her face white and drawn. “I need your help Mac. I thought, being a doctor, well…I need money. A thousand pounds, as a matter of fact.”

Mac gaped at her. “You what??”

“I’m sorry, Mac. If I could ask anyone else I would.”

“Georgia, love, I haven’t got that kind of money to hand.” Mac said gently. “What on earth’s happened?”

“I wrote her some letters, you see. Some rather silly ones I’m afraid.”

Mac suddenly went cold. “Georgie, you didn’t.” 

“I know.” Georgia groaned. “I was so bloody stupid. But it’s been so long since Edie and, well…”

Mac sighed. “You better start at the beginning.”

It wasn’t a long story to tell. Jenny Bainbridge was recently arrived in Melbourne, and had immediately made an impression among the Sapphically-inclined women of the city. She was beautiful, with a wide blue eyes and a delicate blonde fragility that made you want to hold her and protect her. Combined with a sweet, sensual smile, she had no lack of potential lovers. Quiet, chivalrous Georgia had been perpetually single since her nasty breakup with Edie Prescott three years ago. She’d fallen the instant Jenny batted her long lashes. At first Jenny had wanted little tokens, as proof of Georgia’s affection. Then she implied that love notes would reassure her that Georgia wasn’t toying with her heart. Soon Jenny began asking for loans, gifts of cash, her heart and comfort depending on Georgia’s generosity. But gradually the amounts grew bigger and bigger, the tearful scenes more desperate, until finally she threatened to send Georgia’s love letters to the head of department at the university where Georgia taught literature. Unless Georgia handed over the exorbitant sum Jenny demanded, she’d be publicly disgraced. 

Mac listened to this with growing horror. “But surely these letters would implicate her just as much you,” she said, with desperate optimism.

“She says she’ll tell them we never had any intimate relationship, that…that I’ve pursued her. That she’s an innocent victim of my unnatural obsession.” Georgia began to cry. “I’ll lose my position at the university. What am I going to do?!”

“Are you sure she’s not bluffing?” Mac was still dubious that Jenny would go through with her threats.

Georgia looked at her. “You know Gloria Davies?” Mac nodded, dread pooling in her stomach. “Jenny told me she’d sent Gloria’s letters to her parents. They had her committed to the Victoria Mental Asylum for treatment. ”

Treatment, Mac knew, that included electroshock therapy. “Right,” Mac said, standing up and walking to her desk drawer. She pulled out a cheque book and began writing. 

“What are you doing?” Georgia asked.

“First I’m going to buy you some time,” Mac said. She handed Georgia the cheque. “Here’s £100.” Then she crouched down and put a hand to Georgia’s face. “Then I’m going to see a very clever woman I happen to know.”

******

Phryne adjusted her top hat and put her hands in her pockets. 

“Well? Do I pass muster?”

Mac gave an appreciative whistle from where she lounged on Phryne’s sofa. “You’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”

Hands still in pockets, Phryne strode across the room, taking long steps, settling in to the feel of her tuxedo.

“I still think I should have gone with white tails.”

“Much as I’d like to see that, you’re meant to be undercover.” Mac replied wryly.

Phryne wiggled her fingers inside her trouser pockets. She was absurdly pleased with them. She decided to stipulate that her wardrobe in future would have spacious pockets – skirts and dresses included. Mme Fleuri would be horrified, but Renee would be willing to accommodate her.

“I must admit, I’m intrigued at the opportunity to employ both my feminine _and_ my masculine wiles,” Phryne said, admiring herself in the mirror. She turned to Mac, “Though surely it makes more sense for me to play the cat-burglar and you to play the bait.”

“Normally, I’d agree with you, but I’ve already turned her down flat.” Mac shrugged. “She knows I dislike her. If I pursued her now it would look suspicious. And as she only takes butch lovers, you’ll have to dress the part. You get whatever useful information you can out of her, while I search her flat. With any luck we’ll find the letters and she’ll be none the wiser.” Mac paused, taking a meditative sip of whisky. “And anyway, you owe me,” she added.

“For what, pray tell?” Phryne crossed her arms indignantly.

Mac pretended to feel aggrieved. “The Inspector got to see your fan dance, and I didn’t.”

“I’d be more than happy to give a private performance,” Phryne replied, winking. “All you have to do is ask.”

Mac smacked her bottom playfully. “You awful flirt,” she laughed. “Which is precisely why you’re perfect bait.”

*****

“So, if I understand you correctly,” Jack said, with his trademark patient voice, “you decided to break into the suspect’s flat and steal the compromising letters while Miss Fisher kept her…occupied.” 

“You see, Mac, I told you he’d sympathize,” Phryne said. 

Mac leaned across the table earnestly. “You see why you have to let me go, Inspector? We haven’t cracked the case yet.”

Jack sighed. “As we have no hard evidence of criminal intent, nothing was damaged, and the person in question doesn’t even know about this incident, I’m sure I can waive it off as a misunderstanding. But I do wish you and Miss Fisher had come to me first.”

Mac glared at him. “You know very well I couldn’t do that. Phryne doesn’t even know my friend’s name. “

“Discretion is, in this case, very much the better part of valour, Jack,” Phryne added.

Jack thought a moment. “I’ll let the matter drop. But,” he added, ”I’ll see what I can find on Miss Bainbridge. Quietly,” he assured Mac. “Blackmailers are dangerous. We need more information on our suspect before you entangle yourselves any further.” 

*****

It was all very well, Phryne thought, for Jack to insist they hold off until he could dig up more information. But Jenny’s demands for money from Georgia hadn’t let up, and Jack wasn’t the one staring utter social and professional ruin in the face. They couldn’t afford to spare any more time. Phryne lounged against the bar, surveying the elegantly dressed crowd at Madeleine Burton’s private soiree. It was, possibly, the most exclusive gathering she had ever attended – there would be no paragraph about it in the Melbourne society columns. Every guest had been personally vetted to assure privacy and discretion – Mac had written a letter of introduction, vouching for her character, in order to secure her invitation. Frances “Call me Frankie” D’Arcy, Mac assured the hostess, was a well-known participant of Sapphic circles in London. Phryne was rather pleased with her pseudonym, though Mac had rolled her eyes at the last name (“Darcy? Really, Phryne?” Phryne had pointed out that Knightley would be too obvious). 

She adjusted her diamond cufflinks, as she spotted Jenny making her way towards her. This would be their second encounter, and Phryne hoped the sight of diamonds would be too enticing for Jenny to resist.

“Hello again,” Phryne said, with a seductive smile.

“I was hoping you’d be here tonight,” Jenny replied, fluttering her eyelashes. 

“Likewise. I’ve been saving a waltz just for you.”

“Really?” Jenny murmured as Phryne drew her onto the dance floor. She placed her red lips close to Phryne’s ear. “I was hoping we might do more than waltz.”

_Not wasting any time, are we_ , Phryne thought wryly. She smiled, drew Jenny closer. “So was I. But my lodgings…well, I’m not prepared to receive visitors just yet.” 

“Never mind,” Jenny replied with a coy smile. “My place is closer anyway.”

Phryne caught Mac’s eye as she crossed the room with Jenny. She nodded, once, and Mac widened her eyes in understanding. She would wait up by the phone for a call from Phryne, if she needed help. 

The drive to Jenny’s flat was quick. Phryne spent the journey stroking the back of Jenny’s neck, and thinking of delaying tactics. Her original plan had been to convince Jenny of her passion with a well-placed kiss or two, arrange for a later rendezvous at a hotel, then burgle Jenny’s flat as she waited for Phryne at their assignation. But Jenny was pushing faster than Phryne had anticipated, wanting a liaison tonight. Phryne didn’t want to waste the opportunity to study the flat, hoping she could persuade her would-be lover to wait for her just a little longer.

Jenny, it seemed, was not very good at waiting for anything.

Phryne placed her top hat on the hall table as they entered Jenny’s flat. It was comfortable, spacious, and modern; Phryne wondered how many silent victims were paying for this woman’s lifestyle. She took Jenny’s fur, caressing her neck as she did so. Jenny turned, gesturing to the sideboard. “Would you like a drink?”

Phryne bit her lip and tried to look abashed (not an expression she was used to). “Actually, I’d adore some coffee…” 

Jenny smiled sweetly. “Of course. Why don’t I make us a plate to eat as well? Poor thing, you need looking after.” She caressed Phryne’s cheek tenderly. “Why don’t you put on some music while I get things ready.” _Quite the little homemaker_ , Phryne thought scathingly.

As soon as Jenny left the room, Phryne surveyed the room. There was a roll-top desk in the far corner, closed and presumably locked. Phryne dug her lock pick out of her trouser pockets and set to work. 

“Do you take milk and sugar?” Jenny called from the kitchen. Phryne could hear a kettle boiling and cabinet doors opening and closing. 

“Just milk, thanks!” Phryne called, sliding open the desk as quickly and quietly. Likely there was a hidden compartment behind one of these drawers. She just had to figure out which one…

“Don’t see anything you fancy?” Jenny’s voice interrupted her focus.

“Sorry?” Phryne said, frozen with her hand in the back of the letters compartment. 

“The records.” Jenny’s footsteps moved closer to the living room door. “I’m afraid I don’t have an extensive collection…”

“Oh!” Phryne said, dashing over to the Victrola. “I simply can’t decide! Here, how about this one?” She grabbed a record at random and placed the needle on it. Louis Armstrong’s trumpet blared out at full volume. 

“That’s grand!” Jenny called. “I’m nearly finished in here.”

“No hurry!” Phryne chirped, returning to the desk and digging her fingernails into the loose board in the back. “Please don’t rush on my account.”

Phryne briefly mourned her manicure as she scraped the board back and revealed a packet of letters, all addressed with flowery endearments _. Jenny, my love. To my darling angel. Dearest._ The handwriting varied – these were sent by more than one writer. She must have a stockpile of ammunition to use against her victims.

_Gotcha_ , thought Phryne triumphantly. She was about to stuff them inside her suit jacket and make her excuses, when she heard Jenny’s footsteps behind her. 

“What the hell are you playing at?” she said coldly. Phryne turned, one hand on the desk top, the other holding the packet of letters.

Jenny stood, with a loaded tray in her hands. Her eyes were murderous. She hissed, “Who are you?” 

“I’m Phryne Fisher, and I’m putting an end to your nasty little business.” 

Jenny lunged at her, throwing the coffee tray at Phryne’s head. She dodged, coffee cups shattering on the desk. Jenny shoved Phryne against the desk, clutching at Phryne’s wrist, trying to get the letters, but Phryne twisted away. She grabbed Jenny’s arm, intending to use the woman’s momentum against her, when Jenny swung at her suddenly, a sharp letter-opener in her hand. Phryne ducked, and crouching, drew a stiletto out from where it was strapped against her ankle. She knocked the letter-opener out of Jenny’s hand. Jenny punched Phryne in the stomach, shoved her hard and ran for the door. Phryne scrambled to her feet at the same time as someone began pounding on the front door. “Police! Open up!

“Jack, she’s trying to run!” Phryne shouted. The door burst open and Jenny crashed into Jack Robinson at full tilt. He staggered, but Hugh was behind him, ready with a pair of handcuffs. 

“NO!” shouted Jenny, as Hugh pulled her arms behind her back. “Jennifer Goddard, alias Bainbridge,” said Jack, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Sally Newton.” 

“It wasn’t murder!” Jenny protested, struggling against the handcuffs. “It was self-defence! She attacked me, the stupid cow. I never meant to hurt her-- all she had to do was pay up!”

“I’m sure the jury will sympathise,” Jack replied. “Take her away, constable. “ 

As Hugh dragged Jenny out the door, Phryne turned to Jack, smoothing her ruffled hair and straightening her crumpled lapels. “Murder, Jack?”

“Yes. One of her targets, in Sydney. Apparently Sally Newton was found with a bullet in her skull. No one was willing to come forward with information, so by the time the Sydney police had pieced together what happened, Miss Goddard had fled to Melbourne under an assumed name. Luckily Doctor Macmillan informed me of your whereabouts after I’d discovered the outstanding warrant for her arrest.”

“Well!” Phryne said brightly. “Glad you could make yourself useful, Jack. Though she wouldn’t have gotten far, in those heels of hers.”

“Anytime, Miss Fisher,” he replied dryly. 

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go play postman,” Phryne said, waving the letters triumphantly as she placed her top hat on her head. 

“Plan on making a habit of wearing male attire, Miss Fisher?” said Jack, escorting her out the door.

“I just might. What do you say to that, Inspector?”

Jack gave her an appraising look. “I’d say…it suits you.” He grinned as Phryne laughed delightedly.


End file.
